


Seven Minutes in Heaven

by kam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 03:58:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2094828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kam/pseuds/kam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>short bit of <strike>Johnlock</strike> Sastiel fluff.<br/>just kissing stuff, really.<br/>but they're sort of drunk, so oops?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam could not entirely recall how this had been agreed upon. The past hour or so had disappeared into something vaguely-alcohol shaped, and Sam could see it, fuzzily, through the glass of a bottle (or 3) of Hunter's Helper.  
He was relatively sure the idea has originated with Dean. This sort of thing often did.  
No, in fact he was sure. Because he remembered Dean saying,  
"Cas, what do you even know about it, has anyone kissed you aside from Meg?"  
And Cas has sort of growled no, but what did that matter because he had observed humans kissing for basically ever, so. Clearly he thought that made him some kind of expert.  
He was wrong, though, because Dean was the expert on kissing and Sam knew because Dean had taught him to kiss when he was twelve because as a Winchester, he needed to know. Their reputation was at stake, Dean had explained. _His_ reputation (Sammy didn't have a reputation yet, except as Dean Winchester's little brother.)  
So Dean was the expert. And Sammy had trained under him. And Cas knew nothing. And Dean explained that (leaving out the bit about Sam), much to Cas's indignation.  
So, of course, a contest was proposed.  
And Sam was drafted as judge, because they clearly couldn't judge each other fairly (Cas insisted he could, but he doubted Dean's ability.)  
And Sam, in a drunken panic, had rushed out that he knew how Dean kissed and didn't need to kiss him again (because it's one thing when you're 12 and kiss your 16 year old brother, and entirely another when you're 27 and he's 31.)  
Which they decided meant that he had agreed to kiss Cas.  
And he could have done that and been ok and probably moved on with his life and not thought too much about it, except Dean called Seven Minutes in Heaven and shoved the two of them into the room's tiny closet, despite Cas's protests that Sam was physically incapable of existing in Heaven.  
And Sam barely managed to explain that he didn't mean Heaven heaven, just kissing, before Cas grabbed him roughly by the shirt and pressed their lips together.  
Sam had held out hope that Cas really did know what he was doing. That hope was quickly shattered as Cas pressed clumsy, dispassionate lips against Sam's. Moments later, Sam felt a disconcertingly cool tongue licking at the seam of his lips, and he reared back in indignation. Cas released him and stepped back, flickering hopeful blue eyes up at him.  
"Have I successfully demonstrated my ability?"  
Sam could lie. He was decent at it. He could say yes, go back out, tell Dean he had been right, that Cas had no clue what he was doing. He could even try to lie to Dean, if he wanted to save Cas's feelings. Dean would _know_ , of course, but maybe Cas would give him points for trying.  
Sam didn't do either of those things. Instead, he stepped forward, pressing into Cas's apparently non-existent personal space, and smoothed his palms down the front of his rumpled trench.  
"Cas, you... Just let me show you."  
Sam took a deep breath before crowding in a bit closer, forcing Cas to tip his head back in order to maintain eye contact.  
"Show me what,"  
Cas at least had the good sense to lower his voice, grinding out a semblance of a murmur that seemed to get caught somewhere between their chests.  
Their chests that were now almost touching.  
And could Sam still justify this with the contest? Because it was getting harder and har  
More difficult.  
Right.  
Sam leaned in, brushing his lips to Cas's, and Cas immediately reached up, threading his fingers into Sam's hair and trying to pull him close. Sam grabbed his wrists, pulling his hands back down and moving back.  
"Gentle, Cas. There's no rush. We have time."  
"Five minutes and eighteen seconds,"  
Cas confirmed, relaxing almost imperceptibly into Sam's grip.  
When Sam pressed forward again, Cas waited.  
"Gentle,"  
Sam murmured one more time, before closing the gap and brushing his lips over Cas's. This time, Cas simply turned his face up into the kiss, letting Sam lead, and Sam pressed a bit harder with each pass, angling his head this way and that, pressing gentle kisses to every part of Cas's mouth.  
When he pulled back, Cas left his eyes closed, waiting. He opened them, slowly, when it became apparent Sam had stopped, and he squinted at him in the low light.  
"Why did you stop?"  
"I. Um. I wanted to explain what you do next."  
"What do you do next?"  
"You, uh, deepen. The kiss, I mean."  
“I was aware of that. It involves the tongue. I was attempting to do that when you pulled back, the first time.”  
“You were doing it wrong.”  
Cas ‘hmph’d’ indignantly, and Sam pressed forward, soothing the indignation with his gentle lips against Cas’s.  
Cas relaxed into the kiss once more, and Sam tilted his head, running his tongue slowly along Cas’s lower lip, pausing once he reached the far corner, waiting for Cas to let him in. He did, almost hesitantly, and Sam slowly deepened the kiss, pulling him tighter as he did. Cas released a sudden, unexpected moan, tightening his arms around Sam, holding him borderline-uncomfortably and pressing up on his toes to deepen the kiss even further.  
If Sam hadn’t known before, he knew then. This was too far, too much to not mean something, to him, at least. Cas didn’t understand things like this, Cas might not care once they left the closet, or the next morning, but Sam would. This would stay with Sam, it would pick at him during quiet moments, haunt him when he slept, and there was nothing he could do about it and no one to blame, because he’d gone along and never said no and now here he was, with Cas just the right amount of pliant and passionate beneath him, his lips warm and soft but insistent, and Sam would never admit it but in that moment, he knew he was in love.  
“Alright, ladies, you can come out now…”  
Dean opened the door, only to find it slammed in his face, Cas’s grace summoning a locking mechanism out of thin air.  
“Cas, the seven minutes is…”  
Sam was cut off, quite rudely, actually, by Cas pulling his lips back down. His technique had, in fact, vastly improved – he was still too eager, too insistent, but it was nice. Charming. He _wanted_ this, wanted it badly, Sam realized, as Cas pressed their bodies together and Sam felt a hardness pressing against his thigh. Cas had somehow backed him up against the wall of the closet, and Sam found that he didn’t mind at all. He knew that they needed to _stop_ , to talk about this, but he was pretty sure that talking about it would involve not kissing Cas, and that wasn’t something he was ready to do yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my first sastiel story.  
>  um.  
>  for now, i'm leaving it like this, though i could certainly be persuaded to do a follow-up bit involving.  
>  like.  
>  actual stuff.  
>  sex stuff.  
>  you know.  
>  or not.  
>  whatever.
> 
> you're not my supervisor.


	2. Chapter 2

The world is falling apart, and so is Sammy. In a way, it’s reassuringly normal. Ever since that night at Stanford, when Dean showed up and dragged him back into it, the world has been falling apart, and Sam has been holding on by a thread. It’s a different apocalypse every time, and every time, Sam finds a different thread to cling to. There’s safety and comfort in the routine of it. Or, there was, before Castiel.

Castiel brought a new sort of apocalypse with him. A new end to Sammy’s world. Because he had tried, he really had – Jess wouldn’t want him to be alone, he’d rationalized, she’d want him to be happy. But the life of a Hunter isn’t exactly conducive to love, so he never _really_ moved on, and when he slept, he went back to that safety – a house with a white picket fence, Jess, two kids, a dog. Until Castiel.

Now, his dreams were full of tan skin and pink lips, bright blue eyes, and a deep, gravelly voice. Instead of soft curves, he dreamed of hard lines and sharp angles, and he didn’t know what to do with that, so he pushed it away, kept it shoved down deep, because it couldn’t _possibly_ be as important as stopping Lilith.

And it wasn’t. It definitely wasn’t, and it kept being not-as-important through Lilith and Lucifer and the Cage and losing his soul and getting it back. But then, Sammy got drunk and Dean pushed and Cas went along, and then it was suddenly more important.

“Cas,”

it was an effort to pull back far enough to even get that out, but Sam struggled and struggled and persevered, and Cas’s eyes fluttered open, piercing blue even in the darkness of the closet.

“What,”

Cas immediately tried to go back to kissing Sam, and when Sam turned, determined to _talk_ , Cas contented himself with going after Sam’s neck, doing things he had _no_ business knowing how to do.

“Cas, we can’t… We can’t do this here. We have to… Cas we have to…”

“We can leave the closet,”

his voice was muffled by the join of Sam’s shoulder, where he was presently focused. Sam groaned, partly at the euphemism and partly because Cas was doing this thing with his tongue and it was not something Sam was used to but also not something he wanted Cas to ever stop doing.

They ended up on Sam’s bed by some miracle. By another, Dean was gone. Sam didn’t think about that too much, because Cas was sitting on his hips while his legs were off the edge of the bed, and their lips were back together, which was good, and Cas was making this noise, this little desperate gasping noise, and Sam had no idea why until it registered that he had only one hand tangled in Sam’s hair, and the other was… Somewhere else, and Cas’s hips were moving and _that_ …

It took all of Sam’s strength to flip Cas over. He had to also push him up the bed a little, so he could kneel without Cas’s head being in his chest. Cas didn’t protest until Sam pulled back, and he tried to follow, which made unbuttoning his shirt really difficult.

“Hold still, Cas, I… Do you want to… I mean, can I..?”

It took him a minute to realize that, as he was fumbling with his words, the buttons he _had_ been fumbling with had disappeared right along with Cas’s trench, button-up, and undershirt.

“Yours too,”

Cas asked hopefully, blue eyes even brighter here where there was dim light from outside to reflect in them. Sam nodded, and found himself suddenly shirtless.

“Cas, are we going to…”

“Can we?”

“If you…”

“Please.”

“Alright.”

And just like that, Sam relinquished his old identity, with no promise of a new one on the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i 1000% promise that there will be more of this.  
> just.  
> you know.  
>  _eventually._
> 
> i stopped having free time about two weeks ago i don't know what you want from me.


End file.
